


The Beginning

by orphan_account



Category: Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, First Meeting Rewrite, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22314142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A small rewrite and character study of Diaval through his first interaction with Maleficent.
Relationships: Diaval & Maleficent (Disney), Diaval/Maleficent (Disney)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 66





	The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I want to write a large story, but I can't seem to write Diaval very well. Anyway, anyone who is reading this, please go easy. If there are any major mistakes, they are my own and I would like to know. Thanks!

_ Fly. Go. _

_ Caught. Fight. Survive. _

_ Call for help. Flap. Survive.  _

_ Survive.  _

He felt something wrong. 

His wings grew and his legs stretched and his head felt like it was swelling and changing shape. He could not help giving a sharp caw of discomfort. 

The net that had been slung across his body was now clinging to his - his wings, which were now gangly, pale, and wrong. They were like human’s wings. His head mushed into the dirt, and when he tried to lift it, his muscles failed him. 

The dogs whimpered and cried, following after their fleeing. That had never happened to him before. Every human that came near him never left, only ever causing him pain.

His beak tried to click, only to have soft, fleshy skin in the way that burned when he snipped at it. The action also caused dirt to gather within his beak that tasted vulgarly bitter, though there was a rotten undertaste that was pleasant. 

He tried to blink, and it took several tries to get his eyelids to close around the painful dirt. They were different, and he blinked more to practise.

Next, he tried to stand, only to have his legs fold in the wrong way and he flopped to his side, tangling in the net. He cried, and then fell very still. He sounded like a human. Only his cousin had made that sound, close to what a human beak could make, and he cried out again. 

And suddenly there were _words_ , millions upon millions of words and detail and _things_ he didn’t know before. He now knew his name was Diaval, and that he was not a bird now, and that there was something, or rather, someone _right_ _there_. 

Diaval instantly knew that she was a predator, in the way that he knew who his family was, and the way that he knew to get  _ up  _ and defend himself. He tried to stand and stumbled. His clumsy human limbs were so long and big. They didn’t work like wings.

He wobbled upon his feet and tripped away from the - the fae, that’s what she was - and looked upon her warily. Diaval was intensely aware of the uncomfortable pull on his shoulder blades from his arms, and the way his neck bobbed. She must have been the creature that changed him. 

Diaval glared behind himself at his lack of feathers. His human form was too pale and fleshy to look appealing; he looked more like a white earthworm than a raven. Strands of beautiful threads fell in his face, and Diaval pulled them to better see. 

They looked much like feathers. Maybe this form was pretty too? Something flared around his heart, similar to the feeling he got when he found eggs to eat. 

He cleared his throat and tried to mouth the words that bubbled in his chest. “Wh- what have you done to my beautiful self?” he croaked. The tongue in his mouth felt clumsy, and the lips framing his teeth were cracked and painful.

“Would you rather I let them beat you to death?” she said, in a sharp and clear voice that made him feel less intelligent than he had as a bird. It was an unpleasant feeling.

Diaval considered the way he felt: his heart was beating past his control, his fingers twitched, and everything about his body shouted that something was wrong. He much prefered his bird body. “I’m not certain,” he said, and then regretted it when the fae’s eyes sharpened.

“Stop complaining,” she growled, “I saved your life.” Diaval then felt sheepish. It was true, she had saved his life. It was better to be ugly and uncomfortable than dead. Dipping his head in a way that he hoped showed respect, he tried to find the right words. 

“Forgive me.” That should do it, right? The way his saviour’s eyes softened the slightest told him that it did. 

“What do I call you?” 

“Diaval,” he crowed with pride. “ And in return for saving my life, I am your servant.” A pause caught him here. He understood what a servant was, and that being in a life debt was serious. What could he promise her? “ Whatever you need.”

It seemed a fair trade. A servant that would serve until death, and still being alive. An all-around win. He glanced up into her eyes, daring his fate by staring into the shiny emeralds that sparkled there. Beautiful. 

Her eyes looked far-away, in a time and place that told of many pain and trails. Diaval felt something within him fall like he was tumbling from a tree. 

“Wings. I need you to be my wings,” she murmured and then turned from his confused gaze. How could he be anyone’s wings? Would she turn him into a pair of wings? The thought of being attached to another in that way frightened him. 

They started walking, and soon all questions fled his mind as he strumbled and tripped out of the field, struggling to keep up with his mysterious saviour. Who was she? Why did she save him? 

As they walked, something itchy and restricting appeared on his chest. Stopping in surprise, Diaval looked down and picked at the dark fabrics that stretched across his chest. “What is this?” he cried in distress.

“Those are clothes,” the fae said. “Stop picking at them.” She turned and continued on, leaving Diaval struggling to keep up in the tight cloth she had wrapped around him. A soft whisper caught his ears, and then his body was changing again.

His arms shrunk to wings, and his legs turned back to claws.  _ Yes,  _ he thought _. This is better.  _ He took flight and cawed his victory to the air. 

“Do not fly far. I will require you soon,” she said, and though something told Diaval to run while he could, there was something stronger telling him to stay. And so he did, following his saviour into the Moors. 


End file.
